By the Boots, Chapter Two
by Diry
Summary: A continuation of the disfunction sex tale of Ami and Yumi.


**By the Boots, Chapter Two**

**Disclaimer:** Only the plot is mine.

"They're the real thing, straight from the dungeons of Mistress Wanda Qwan." Ami explained about the mishap on the set, yet in the telling it seemed as if the entire day had been lived by someone else.  
At Yumi's request, Ami took out the boots, and together they inspected them. "They're sort of scary," she said.  
"I don't think so." said Ami.  
"Put them on." Yumi smiled, and within seconds was helping her into the thigh highs she'd inherited from the pissed off dominatrix, inherited because an idiot porn star named Rhonda Rods had cajoled Ami into trying them on when she must have known it was bad karma to wear a dominatrix's boots without permission. That day she'd been devastated, but balancing around the apartment for Yumi, she wished she had thanked her.  
"Take off your underwear," Yumi said, and she did, the sun making waves through the dirty blinds, and it was naughty and illicit, as if they were slumming in a dive bar in the middle of the afternoon. But if in those shoes Ami had felt like a cheap whore with Rhonda Rods, with Yumi she was a woman, or she'd accpeted some idea of femininity that always felt like an act with men. She was being sexy, and liked it, and liked her lover watching her be sexy.  
They danced naked, and she was suddenly tall. Yumi put her in a lace bra and spun her around. "There, now you look like a porn star."  
"I have way too much pubic hair"  
"Then let's get rid of it."  
"You serious?"  
She nodded, cheeks dimpling foolishly, but Ami knew she was indeed serious. Yumi said she'd always wanted to shave a woman and, at this moment, she could have said she wanted to have a threesome with a goat and Ami would have said, "Let's find a petting zoo"  
An occasional advocate of the clipped bikini line, Ami had the necessary accoutrements. Scissors. Shaving cream. Disposable razors. Vitamin E capsules and aloe vera lotion. Yumi draped a towel over the toilet seat and sat her down, spreading her faux leather legs. She picked up the scissors and Ami's thighs caved inward. She had a fear of sharp things near her pussy, especially when they were in someone else's hands.  
"It's okay," she said. She kissed the top of Ami's clit and stroked her; already she wanted to scream. She leaned her head back, felt the pull on her pubes, the cold metal of the scissors and, then, a tense snip. Her eyes shut to the clip of the shears, the hum of Yumi's voice.  
When she next looked down, her pubes were tightly buzzed; sort of prepubescent, sort of In-The-Navy, yet caught between these shiny faux leather lampposts. Ami almost liked her own body. Yumi smiled and filled her palm with shaving cream as her lover's heart raced.  
She started shaving at the top. The back of Ami's neck tingled, and she had to bite her tongue to keep from whimpering. She could feel her legs shake the closer Yumi got to her vagina. "Trust me," Yumi said, two fingers spreading her lower lips so she could get in further with the razor. "I was always really good at shaving the ballon. It was my favorite booth at the town fair. I always won"  
"You're such a little suburban girl"  
"I never said anything different. Everyone just assumes I'm from Tokyo or wherever. From the hood, as it were"  
"I'm more from the hood than you are"  
"Exactly, but it's like that's the past I should have"  
"You can have mine if you want"  
"That's very kind of you...can you move your left leg up a bit? There, that's it." Ami's right leg slanted against the sink like a contortionist's so Yumi could get underneath. She was flooded with visions of losing her balance and sacraficing her clit to a disposable Bic. No coming, ever. Not even the hope of it. She shivered, feeling the muscles in her stomach contract.  
"Relax," Yumi said, as if she had already read her mind. She softened the scrape of the razor, stopping every so often to stroke Ami with her fingertips. Ami felt them so intensely, the opposite of relaxing.  
She pulled back, tapped the razor against her chin. "I'm wondering, maybe we should leave the hair on top"  
"You're the stylist."


End file.
